


Falling in love in Berkley Square

by born_to_read



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 36 questions, Canon Compliant, Fluff, M/M, oblivious idiots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:21:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24897616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/born_to_read/pseuds/born_to_read
Summary: “The 36 Questions that lead to love: 36 questions which will make two people fall in love with each other,” Crowley recited what was on the page, “Sounds like a load of hogwash to me”
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 64





	Falling in love in Berkley Square

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Madhumita](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madhumita/gifts).



> First fic here-hope you guys like it!

As the nightingale hummed outside the window, Crowley leaned across the table, tapping his wine glass against Aziraphale’s—his seventh glass that evening, mind—he felt slightly buzzed, but somehow, that was alright with him; he had helped prevent the Apocalypse, for hell’s sake! Surely, he deserved those two bottles of alcohol, and several more, if he was so inclined, he decided. 

He shook his head, clearing it of thoughts, and instead focused on the angel seated in the chair across from him, who now appeared to be holding up a magazine and speaking with a slightly confused expression on his face. 

“… and it was just there this morning. Appeared straight out of thin air, I reckon. I wonder if Adam had anything to do with it. What do you suppose?”

“Hmm?” Crowley said pleasantly, smirking at Aziraphale’s expression even though he had no idea what had caused it.

“The magazine, Crowley,” Aziraphale iterated, waving the offensively pink booklet in front of Crowley’s face.

“‘The New York Times’,” Crowley read out, feeling his own lips curling in disdain, “What in the bloody hell is that?”

“How should I know?” Aziraphale said, as though he wasn’t the one who was gripping the magazine in his hand, “It popped up on my desk this morning, just like that”

“Maybe some customer left it behind,” Crowley suggested; he couldn’t care less about some silly magazine, and was hoping to change the topic as soon as possible, but Aziraphale seemed persistent, now flipping it open and pointing at an article. 

“You know I don’t have many customers, Crowley,” he reprimanded, sounding disappointed, as though he honestly expected Crowley to remember every small detail of his life: one which spanned over six thousand years at that, Crowley reminded himself. “This particular page was bookmarked in the article, though,”

“The 36 Questions that lead to love: 36 questions which will make two people fall in love with each other,” Crowley recited what was on the page, “Sounds like a load of hogwash to me”

“But the page was marked!” Aziraphale repeated insistently, “What if it’s a message from …,” here, he lowered his voice and tilted his head upward, “you know?”

“I’m fairly sure it isn’t part of God’s plan to have us take a quiz in a blooming magazine from across the ocean,” Crowley quipped dryly.

“Well, you can’t be sure, can you?” Aziraphale said, perfectly serious; six thousand years had done nothing to improve his relationship with sarcasm. “That’s the whole point-it’s ineffable, isn’t it?”

“Still, I’m pretty certain-” Crowley began, but he stopped himself upon seeing that Aziraphale was already clearing his throat and preparing to read the first question off the page. Crowley wasn’t about to waste any breath fighting a lost cause. 

“If you could invite anyone in the world to dinner, who would it be?” Aziraphale asked.

“Anyone at all?” Crowley asked, aiming to look disinterested while brainstorming an answer at the same time.

“That’s what it says” Aziraphale confirmed, “Perhaps Shakespeare, do you think? He was a funny bloke. I sort of miss the conversations we shared after his plays”

“You could choose anyone, and you choose Shakespeare?” Crowley said.

“Oscar Wilde?” Aziraphale offered, screwing up his nose.

“I’m fine where I am, thanks” Crowley dismissed.

“So … you choose me to have dinner with?” Aziraphale pointed out, sitting up with his face already brightening into that absolutely insufferable expression which Crowley certainly did not find endearing at all. 

“I suppose so” Crowley conceded, taking another sip—gulp—of wine and not looking up to meet the angel’s eyes. 

“Well, I’ve decided that I would choose you too, then,” Aziraphale said promptly.

“How generous of you,” Crowley said, rolling his eyes. 

“Question two,” Aziraphale called out theatrically, “Would you want to be famous? In what way?”

“Is being a demon from Hell considered famous?”

“Nobody knows you’re a demon, Crowley.”

“I was famous that one time I served as Napoleon’s right hand,” Crowley interjected.

“And did a rubbish job of it” Aziraphale muttered under his breath, much to Crowley’s chagrin. 

Crowley spared the question a few more seconds of thought before shrugging, “I don’t think I would much fancy being famous” 

“Maybe just for a little while,” Aziraphale said, “But I have a bookshop to run, so no.”

“Seeing as you run it so well” Crowley said, in retaliation for Aziraphale’s earlier comment.

Aziraphale ignored him. “Before you make a telephone call, do you ever rehearse what you are going to say? Why?” 

“Because I don’t bloody understand those devices, that’s why!” Crowley snapped.

“You talk just fine when you call me, though.” Aziraphale reminded. 

“Now I do” Crowley said, “Don’t tell me you don’t remember the first time you called me on that telephone you so generously placed in my house. Scared the bollocks out of me, it did.”

“Even though I customized it to play Queen when I called?” Aziraphale asked petulantly. Crowley relented just a bit. “It still isn’t great having The Call play out of nowhere in the middle of the night” Crowley mumbled. 

“I forgot I was in India” Aziraphale said sheepishly, “Next question: What would constitute a perfect day for you?”

Crowley toyed with the remains of roast beef on his plate. “We sent Lucifer right back to where he came from and tricked both Heaven and Hell. I’d say it’s been a perfect week, wouldn’t you?” 

“I rather liked that one summer day back in 1782, but yes, I agree.” Aziraphale said with a nod, “When did you last sing to yourself? To someone else?” he said before going on, “Not that I would call what you do ‘singing’, but you were humming Don’t stop me now three glasses in.”

“I try,” Crowley said with a shrug, “On that note, do you even sing? I’ve known you for thousands of years and not once have I heard a musical note leave your mouth.”

“I’ve never tried,” Aziraphale admitted.

“Not once?” Crowley was incredulous. 

“Maybe I’ll give it a go sometime this century,” Aziraphale decided, beaming at the idea. 

“If you were able to live to the age of ninety, would you rather-”

“I don’t think we need to answer that question, eh, angel?” Crowley cut him off. 

“No, I don’t suppose we do” Aziraphale agreed, “Do you have a secret hunch about how you will die?” He shuddered at the question, “I’ve only just recovered from that awful experience with Shadwell.”

“It wasn’t too fun for me either” Crowley grumbled, flinching slightly “Let’s just say we can’t technically die and get on with the next question.”  
“Right. Name three things you and your partner have in common,” Aziraphale said. “That’s you and me.” he added unnecessarily. 

“We’re both supernatural beings.” Crowley said, holding up three fingers and then putting one down. 

“We were both partly responsible for the world not ending.” Aziraphale said triumphantly.

“We’re both supposed to be dead.”

“Now you’re the one bringing up death unprecedented,” Aziraphale complained. 

“I wasn’t wrong though,” Crowley defended. 

Aziraphale huffed in annoyance, but continued to read, “For what in your life do you feel most grateful?”

“This glass of wine!” Crowley declared a little too loudly; several people turned to stare at him. Crowley merely shrugged—he even stuck his tongue out at an unnecessarily curious two-year-old boy—and drained his (ninth?) glass of wine. 

“I’m grateful that we cocked up so much when we tried to prevent the apocalypse. Things wouldn’t have turned out so well if it weren’t for that, would they?”

“To our incompetence.” Crowley agreed, pouring out another glass, frowning at Aziraphale’s only half-empty glass as he did so. 

“If you could change anything about the way you were raised, what would it be?”

“Well, I would have preferred not being damned for the rest of eternity, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“That’s a pretty big change, but I presume it’s allowed” Aziraphale said with a nod, “I would have liked to have actually been raised instead of just dropped in the middle of nowhere with a list of rules to follow and tasks to perform.” 

Crowley sat up, interested in the direction the conversation was going. “Is that a complaint I hear?” he asked delightedly.

“Not a complaint. Merely a grievance,” Aziraphale replied primly, and, before Crowley could question him further, he went to the next question, “Take four minutes and tell your partner your life story in as much detail as possible”

“That’s a lot of details” Crowley remarked with a chuckle; he wasn’t sure what caused it: the question or the alcohol. 

“Reckon we should jump to the next question?”

“Hear, hear!” Crowley agreed, using the exclamation as an excuse to swallow another two gulps of wine. 

“If you could wake up tomorrow having gained any one quality or ability, what would it be?”

“The ability to make you stop reading these questions.”

“Very funny, Crowley”

“One can only hope”

“I would like the ability to be able to contact God—or whoever is controlling all of this—at some point”

“Dream on, Angel” Crowley scoffed. 

“If a crystal ball could tell you the truth about yourself, your life, the future or anything else, what would you want to know?” Aziraphale asked.   
“Don’t you think we’ve had enough prophecies to last us a lifetime?”

“Several lifetimes, in our case” Aziraphale corrected with an almost vehement nod.

“So … what say we abandon them and just go with the flow from here on?”

“I would like that very much” Aziraphale agreed. “Is there something that you’ve dreamed of for a long time? Why haven’t you done it?”

Crowley felt Aziraphale’s gaze boring into him, and he fanned himself with his collar, putting down his glass, ‘Is it just me or is it getting warm in here?”

“Would you like me to lower the temperature in the room?” Aziraphale asked promptly, ever-willing to perform a miracle now that heaven wasn’t hot on his heels anymore. 

“No … wouldn’t want to inconvenience all the people around here,” Crowley said, causing Aziraphale’s expression to morph into a mixture of surprise and delight. “What do you say we head out to the gardens in Berkley Square?”

“I say yes!” Aziraphale replied excitedly, already standing up. Crowley stood too, stumbling a bit as he did so. Aziraphale held out a hand to steady him. With a grimace, Crowley threw some money on the table to cover the bill as the two of them stumbled out to the garden.

“So, your answer?” Aziraphale prompted, clearly unwilling to let the stupid quiz go. Well, it wasn’t like Crowley had expected him to; Aziraphale could be plenty stubborn when he wanted to.

“If I had any dreams, I ought to have bloody well accomplished them by now, angel.” Crowley said. 

“I, for one, often dream of eating at this one acclaimed sushi restaurant in Japan,”

“What’s stopping you?”

Aziraphale stopped in his tracks. Moments later, his face split into a grin. ‘Why-absolutely nothing!” he declared, “Are you free this Saturday?”

“Do I have to?” Crowley protested, merely out of habit at this point. 

“You don’t want to?” Aziraphale half-pouted. 

“I’ll go.” Crowley conceded, pretending to be unwilling about it. The smile he got from Aziraphale in return was worth it, in any case.   
“What is the greatest accomplishment in your life?” Aziraphale went on.

“Stopping the apocalypse?”

“Stopping the apocalypse.” Aziraphale affirmed, promptly going to the next question, “What do you value most in a friendship?”

“The willingness to run away to Alpha Centauri when your best friend asks you to,” Crowley retorted. 

“That’s oddly specific.” Aziraphale said, acting like he had no idea what Crowley was referring to. 

“That’s all it takes to be my friend,” Crowley said dismissively, “You failed, by the way.”

“Yes, I got that. Well, what I value is trust”.

“Yet you didn’t trust me.”

“It isn’t like you trusted that I would find a way around things.”

“You didn’t really, though”

“Maybe if my best friend had trusted me, I would have.” Aziraphale said pointedly. 

Crowley only sighed. “I’m glad I didn’t go.” he admitted.

“I am too, of course” Aziraphale agreed with a soft smile. “What is your most treasured memory? And don’t say stopping the apocalypse again”

“I wasn’t going to!” Crowley lied, making sure to look very convincing.

“What were you going to say, then?” Aziraphale challenged. 

“I hadn’t made up my mind yet.” Crowley said, “I’m struggling to decide between the time I saved you from being guillotined and the time I saved you from being discorporated by Hitler’s lackeys.”

“Why do both these situations involve me almost dying?”

“What can I say-I seem to love it when you’re a damsel in distress.” Crowley wasn’t sure whether he imagined the light colour on Aziraphale’s cheeks; he decided to blame it on the alcohol in their systems. 

“I did quite enjoy the crepes afterwards,” Aziraphale said thoughtfully, “We should go back sometime.”

“We’ve got all the time in the world, I reckon.” Crowley said with a lazy smile.

“What is your most terrible memory?”

Crowley screwed up his face. “Remember that time I was accused as a witch in 1693 or summat. That wasn’t great.”

Aziraphale chuckled. “I would say my recent experience being discorporated.”

“I didn’t much like that either.” Crowley agreed with a solemn nod.

Aziraphale quickly moved on to the next question, “If you knew that in one year you would die suddenly, would you change anything about the way you are now living? Why?”

“I, for one, would be furious if I found out I was dying so soon after getting rid of Hastur’s ugly mug.” Crowley said.

“Would you live out the rest of your days in anger, then?”

“Probably. One year is hardly enough time to do anything, I don’t think”

“I’ll have to agree on that. What do they mean by death, though? If it was mere   
discorporation, I’d just live in dread of the paperwork”

“I doubt a human magazine would make the distinction between discorporation and actually being erased from existence, angel” Crowley said dryly.

“Of course. What does friendship mean to you?” Aziraphale said.

“That’s all we have now, isn’t it? Us against the world”

“Us for the world, really” Aziraphale pointed out. 

“Why not both?”

“I suppose … what roles do love and affection play in your life?” Aziraphale asked next. 

“Not a big one, that’s for sure.” 

“That’s because you don’t form any bonds with people.”

“As opposed to you and your many relationships?” Crowley said sardonically.

Aziraphale grimaced. “Point taken. However, I do appreciate the ones I have.” he added, adjusting his tie self-consciously as he waved at a small boy cycling past them. “Alternate sharing something you consider a positive characteristic of your partner. Ooh, I’ll begin,”

“Of course you will.”

“I like how confident you are all the time,”

Crowley considered telling Aziraphale that it was mostly a façade, but he decided not to burst his angel’s bubble and simply nodded, racking his brain to find something to say. “I like your optimism?” he said uncertainly. 

Aziraphale’s beam told him that it was the right answer—or one of the right answers, at least. “I like that you’re a decent person even though you pretend otherwise,”

“And I like that you’re the opposite,” Crowley said promptly. 

“Are you sure that’s a positive characteristic?” Aziraphale queried with a frown.

“It is to me,” Crowley responded with a shrug. Then, “Can we go to the next question?”

“Alright … How close and warm is your family? Do you feel your childhood was happier than most peoples’?” at this, Aziraphale eyed Crowley with a wary expression. 

Crowley had a lot to say on the matter, but managed to restrain himself, setting for, “It was great until I got kicked to Hell. Also, can Satan be considered family? In that case, I would say my family is pretty rubbish, really”

“I can’t complain” Aziraphale said briefly; Crowley knew that he could—Gabriel hadn’t been the nicest person when he had been preparing to burn Crowley pretending to be Aziraphale—but he appreciated the gesture, nonetheless. 

“How do you feel about your relationship with your mother?”

“You reckon we have one out there?” Crowley asked thoughtfully. 

“Let’s just answer non-existent for that question and jump to the next one: Make three ‘we’ statements each. For instance, ‘We are both in this room feeling …’” Aziraphale continued. 

“We are both supernatural beings”

“That was an easy one,” Aziraphale complained. 

“You didn’t cite any exceptions”

“Right. We are both-’

“Didn’t we already answer a question regarding three things we have in common?” 

Crowley interrupted, stopping their stroll by hunching over near a tree, feeling too full of food and alcohol to walk much further without some repose.   
“Yes, but this is different. Besides, you’ve already dodged several questions. We need to answer something.”

“Since we’re going to fall in love and all that jazz.” Crowley muttered under his breath.

“Hmm?” Aziraphale asked, evidently missing what he had said; he wasn’t supposed to hear it anyway, Crowley decided. 

“Nothing. Read on, angel.” 

“Complete this sentence: I wish I had someone with whom I could share …”

“I don’t need anybody.” 

“The question says nothing about necessity. It’s merely a wish.” Aziraphale pointed out.

“I have enough people in my life,” Crowley insisted. 

There was a pronounced silence for a few seconds before Aziraphale coughed. “Umm … you don’t really have anyone in your life at this point, Crowley.” Then, he added hastily, “Except me, of course. And I suppose we could visit Anathema and Newt sometime …”

“That’s enough,” Crowley said stubbornly, more about the former half of Aziraphale’s proclamation than the latter. Not that he was ever going to admit it. “And you? What do you wish to share with someone?”

“Nobody would really understand everything I have to share,” Aziraphale said, “What with the whole six thousand years of existence.”

“So … someone to share your entire life experience with is what you are looking for?” Crowley surmised, wondering why his own voice sounded faintly hopeful. 

Aziraphale nodded. “Shared experience would be great.”

“Ah,” Crowley said gruffly, and then hastily resumed walking, clearing his throat before asking Aziraphale to go on. 

“If you were going to become close friends with your partner, please share what would   
be important for him or her to know.” 

Crowley spun around to face Aziraphale—who was behind him—and held out his hand. 

“I’m a demon!” he announced in a mock-serious voice. 

Aziraphale’s face betrayed the hint of a smile as he shook his head. “I suppose that one is a silly question for us to answer,” he conceded, “Tell your partner what you like about them; be very honest this time—”

“This again?” Crowley said exaggeratedly, “Are you making these questions just to get me to compliment you, Aziraphale?” he demanded, leaning over and snatching the magazine out of the angel’s hands. 

“Right. Next question: Share with your partner an embarrassing moment in your life.” 

His lips curled as he read it, “I don’t like this one very much”

“You’ve seen my most embarrassing moment,” Aziraphale said, always ready to overshare when it came to Crowley it seemed, “When I got taken in by a group of …” here, he lowered his voice, “Nazis,” whispering the word as though it was somehow cursed; it might as well have been, Crowley reflected. 

“I never embarrass myself” Aziraphale pouted. 

“Fiiiine” Crowley groaned, adjusting his glasses on his nose, “When Hastur dressed me down in front of the council for mucking up a war a few centuries ago”

“Dare I ask for the details?” Aziraphale said.

“You may certainly not dare” Crowley answered, “When did you last cry in front of another person? By yourself? Well, I do recall crying by myself when someone’s spirit   
apparated in front of me” 

“I didn’t think you were going to admit to that,” Aziraphale said.

“Might as well, seeing as you witnessed the whole thing,” Crowley said, cringing; it wasn’t one of his finest moments: crying over his friend’s death while nursing a bottle of wine, only for said friend to appear before him. “What’s the next question?” Aziraphale asked with a sense of urgency.

"Tell your partner something you like about them already.” Crowley hummed in frustration, “Why are all these questions paraphrasing the same thing?” 

“They’re meant for strangers,” Aziraphale reminded. 

“Then why are we doing this?” “I told you. The book was left—” “I heard you the first time, angel,” Crowley assured him, “What, if anything, is too serious to be joked about?” 

“I could always use a good joke. Though I would avoid the subject of …” his voice trailed away, and he pointed at the sky. 

Crowley snorted. “And is that because you think it’s too serious or because you’re afraid,”

“A mixture of the two,” Aziraphale answered honestly.

“Well, I agree with your answer on the condition that we add down below to the equation of things we shouldn’t joke about. Except Hastur—I encourage and enjoy jokes involving Hastur.”

“After my brief sojourn to hell, I second that.”

“Ha-if you were to die this evening with no opportunity to communicate with anyone, what would you most regret not having told someone? Why haven’t you told them yet?”

“I don’t think I have anything I want to say to anyone” 

“I would regret not telling Satan to find something better to do with himself than cause apocalypses. As for why I haven’t done that yet … well, I’m not planning to die tomorrow, am I?” and Crowley smirked. 

“Your house, containing everything you own, catches fire. After saving your loved ones and pets—do you suppose that includes my plants?” 

“We could alter it to do so,” “You have time to safely make a final dash to save any one item. What would it be? Why?”

“I don’t need to imagine this scenario, seeing as my shop did burn down not too long ago,” Aziraphale remarked. 

“You weren’t there for that; I was the one who rescued Agnes Nutter’s Prophecies from the embers. You didn’t even get to see the remains of your shop before it was restored to what it had been.” Crowley reminded him.

“I can’t be expected to discriminate between my books. If they burn, they all burn.” Aziraphale said resolutely.

“I have this one piece of furniture from the Ottoman Empire. Remarkably comfortable, that. I would save it,” Crowley decided after a moment’s thought. “Of all the people in your family, whose death would you find the most disturbing? Why?” 

“Not much of a family here, in case you haven’t noticed, Crowley.” 

“It isn’t like any of us can die, in any case” Crowley added, “Ah, we’re at the final question. Share a personal problem and ask your partner’s advice on how he or she might,handle it. Also, ask your partner to reflect back to you how you seem to be feeling about the problem you have chosen. That’s a long one”

“For the first time, I have no problems in mind” 

“We’re skipping that one too?” Crowley mused.   
“Don’t you have any problems you would like to share?” 

Crowley considered the question. “It’s just … where do we go from here, do you reckon?”“In what way do you mean?” 

Aziraphale’s nose scrunched up in confusion. 

“The apocalypse was meant to be the highlight of our life. Now that it’s passed—or not passed, whichever—what’s the purpose of anything?”

Aziraphale only smiled. “That’s why the great plan’s ineffable, isn’t it?”

“Isn’t that bloody convenient” Crowley grumbled. 

“Well, whatever it is, we will figure it out. Together”

Crowley had to turn away at the earnestness in his expression, coughing slightly. “I reckon we’re done here then, angel,” he concluded, “In love with me yet?”

“I already like you a great deal, Crowley.” Aziraphale replied nonchalantly. 

Crowley felt his own face flush slightly at the words: the quiz had certainly worked on at least one person, if there was even anything left for it to work on in the first place. “That’s all, then?” Crowley felt almost disappointed. 

Aziraphale shrugged. “What did you expect?” 

“I don’t know—confetti from the skies?” Crowley said, not quite sure whether he meant to adopt a sarcastic tone or not. 

The angel standing opposite him laughed at his hopeful expression. “Would dinner be sufficient?”

“Is it that late already?” Crowley mused. 

“I’m thinking pizza” Aziraphale held out his hand, “What do you say to a quick trip down to Italy?”

Crowley didn’t hesitate before taking his hand. “Consider me tempted” he said, exchanging a smile with the angel. 

Somewhere not so far away in Tadfield, a boy named Adam Young paused his homework, registering an odd mixture of accomplishment and hopelessness settle in his gut; he couldn’t for the life of him figure out what had caused it. Shaking his head, Adam returned his attention to finding the square root of 84.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comment if you enjoyed the read!


End file.
